That Farm Girl
by Jemmmmaaaaaaa
Summary: I've been fascinated by Mrs Hughes' backstory forever, so this is a little delve into what I have imagined her past to have been. May continue into something more. Series 5/6. [Chelsie]
1. Chapter 1

_Hi everyone! Just a little intro that I couldn't fit in the tag line. I'm new to all this writing but the temptation of Elsie Hughes' backstory was just too much and I've jumped in with both feet. There's a little explaination panel at the bottom of this first chapter that outlines a little bit of what I've decided is Elsie's timeline. Again, its mostly speculation so if there are any glaring mistakes let me know! Please bear with me, and don't be afraid to leave some hints and tips for me, I would love any advice you all have to give!_

_This takes place literally after Elsie says that first line, except they get interupted by Mr Bates before Mr Carson responds. :)_

_Disclaimer: I dont own any aspect of Downton Abbey in this story, Ive merely borrowed a few things and have merely expanded on what has gone in the series._

_Much love xx_

* * *

"I'm not that farm girl anymore."

Elsie pondered her earlier words as she stood in her now empty sitting room. Mr Bates had interrupted before she had said anything else, and Mr Carson had then left with the valet to help with his telephone, which had left the housekeeper alone with her thoughts. Even though she had been the one to say it, the revelation was still something new to her – she _had_ changed, hadn't she? She had grown up she supposed. Matured. Even if that did make her sound a hundred. She wondered if that farm girl from Argyll had been altered into nothing more than a memory that she largely kept to herself, and if in her place now stood the prim and proper Housekeeper she had become. It wasn't that she hid her past from anyone, for Elsie Hughes did not lie. Rather, she had just let others fill in the blanks themselves, allowing them think what she wanted them to.

She supposed her Scottish stubbornness had been responsible in some part. At least she could reassure herself that that part of her had never changed. From the day she left the farm, she had maintained to her Ma', and to herself, that her new life wouldn't change her. Of course, Agnes Hughes being the sensible sort had warned her eldest girl that she would have to adapt to fit into her new surroundings, but young Elsie Hughes had been adamant. And of course, her Ma' had been right. Elsie recalled how she had found she had to tame her dialect in those early years according to her place of employment, even more so when she travelled south of the border, and even then some were still flummoxed when she spoke.

It hadn't been easy back then, she admitted to herself, but she thought that little by little she had perfected the façade of having nothing more than a slight accent which was easily dismissed with a "Yes, I grew up in Scotland." and no more questions asked. Well, that was until she came to work at Sewerby Hall as a housemaid in her late twenties.* Elsie blushed a little as she recalled many an evening spent walking back to the house from some dance or other, where the new farmhand Joe Burns would wind her up in front of their group by arguing that she turned more and more Scottish with every cider she drank or every reel she danced. It was such a foolish thing to Elsie thinking about it now, but the young Elsie had not yet learned to quiet her fiery temper, and would jump into such an angry tirade of words and insults that neither Joe nor any of their party had heard before, that it led to Joe humorously calling her a Scottish dragon whenever he got the chance – a nickname that stuck for the entirety of her stay at Sewerby. A small smile escaped her lips. She had since reigned in her temper, but there were a few still about who had been on the receiving end of that dragon's wrath.

Looking back, she supposed the other small and subtle alterations had escaped her notice entirely, done out of necessity rather than conscious choice. Well, she thought, maybe not all, as she turned to the looking glass above her mantel. Elsie had never considered herself a vain woman. Looking at her reflection wasn't an action she often indulged in - heavens, most days she barely had the time to see if her hair was tidy, never mind anything else! She merely utilised the glass in the most functional of ways; a quick glance to check if her hat was straight before church, or a as a tool when she was fastening a brooch to her jacket. Simple, efficient, practical, Elsie rhymed off, inwardly rolling her eyes at how much she sounded just like the housekeepers she'd worked under as a young housemaid. But here she was. Just looking. And she wasn't really sure what for.

Unconsciously she raised a hand to the few curls that framed her face, their pins worked loose from a long and hectic day in the downstairs of the Abbey. Her hair had always been part of who she was, from her smallest day she had a full head of unruly dark hair that grew to spill over her shoulders and down to her waist in fits of curls, and as a young lass many a young lad had complimented her on it at local ceilidhs. But over time, it too had changed, she had to admit. She'd noticed it lightening over the years, thinning just a little here and there, but it seemed lighter now than she last remembered. Even in the darkened room, she could clearly see strands of grey working their way through swirls of brown. She sighed but smiled a little, wondering to herself if her Granda would recognise his nighean donn now.*

As a child she supposed she had been as close to her parents as any was, but when her Ma' and Da' were out working on their glebe or helping the other crofters and she was too young to help, it was her Granda she spent her time with. Even now, even after all the people she had met in all her days, he was still the wisest man Elsie had ever known. From his local history and ghost stories, to the wealth of knowledge of the world that surrounded them, Elsie had learned far more from him than any education could have given her when they went out exploring together. Even to this day she could still determine a kestrel or buzzard whilst they were no more than a speck in the sky. Not that she pointed them out to anyone anymore, nor admittedly did it help at all with balancing ledgers.

These adventures got even better when her wee sister Becky came along and it became the three of them, doing all sorts of exploring; in the forests, at Dunadd, to Crinan and Kilmartin Glen, come rain, hail or sunshine.* Elsie remembered she was always venturing ahead, climbing trees along the path they walked, where Becky would tumble along behind her Granda, singing a song all of her own, enjoying herself enormously. After their Granda passed away, Elsie kept up their exploring at Becky's insistence, when she wasn't helping on the farm that was, and would try her best to pass along to her wee sister what she knew. Elsie had often overheard her Ma' and Pa' in their scullery worrying that Becky was coming on too slow for her years, but at the time she didn't understand what the fuss was about. Whilst it did take her a little longer to grasp games or pick up words, Becky was a cheerful lass, always keen to do whatever her big sister was doing, mimicking her actions and words even if she didn't quite understand them.

Elsie recalled how her Granda had never seemed worried. "_Acht, she'll grouw in her aine time lass, jist as ye did._"* he would say when she would ask why her sister was struggling with something. Back then Elsie supposed this was true and quieted her questions, but it was only as the girls grew older that the extent of Becky's difficulties became apparent. Becky would always be her wee sister, if not in body, but in mind, and this had stayed true all this time. Nighean ruadh was what their Granda had called her, for her shock of red hair, and Elsie was his nighean donn for her dark head of curls;* these names had become the girls' names for each other, almost like a secret code only they could share. So wherever she was, whenever she wrote a letter to her sister, Elsie always begun "Mo nighean ruadh," which she knew delighted the younger woman.

They both might not be the dark and flamed haired girls they once were, but whenever she got the chance to visit Becky's home in Lytham St Annes, Elsie thought of how Becky's bubbly childlike demeanour always took her back. Back to a time when she was simply Elsie the big sister, not Elsie the housemaid or Mrs Hughes the house keeper. More often than not Becky would demand a story of their home, of which Elsie had plenty and delighted in retelling. It had been many years since she had last been in Scotland, never mind her home farm, but for Elsie the memories had never faded.

She sat down at her desk. It was getting late, she knew, but she felt compelled to write her sister a letter for the first post in the morning. As she hadn't visited in quite some time, Elsie had taken to writing stories down for the nurses to read to Becky at bedtime. She sank back in her chair, thinking for a moment before settling on a memory that was a favourite of them both. The scene played out in Elsie's mind as though it had only happened yesterday, she could swear there was a smell of peat and gorse bush in her room.

The Hughes' family croft stood nestled in a glen beside a large curve of the meandering River Add. Though the ground was somewhat flat and moor-like, the surroundings were anything but. The farm faced a large and looming Scots Pine and Juniper forest to the north and whilst for young Elsie and her sister Becky it may have been a place of tattybogles and faeries, for their parents it provided excellent shelter for the farm. The rest of the land was surrounded by bracken and grassland that rose and fell with the braes that sloped towards the hilly edges of the glen. The only exception being the rocky crag that was Dunadd standing against the green backdrop proudly.*

Elsie remembered that day clearly. The burbling of the water around the rock she had leapt to as she stood not far from the bank, watching the figure of her Granda, knee-deep in the water, holding out his strong hands to coax her younger sister to do the same.  
_  
"But whit if ah fa?"_ the younger girl had called, tucking both her hands under her chin in contemplation.  
_  
"An whit if ye fa? Whit if a craw swoops doon an spirits ye aff? Whit if a kelpie leaps oot the watter an bites yer taes? There's nae a thing ye shid e'er be feart o when ahm aboot, wean, de ye hear me? Grab ma haun."_ Her Granda laughed, still holding out his hand.*

Elsie hadn't been sure what her sibling was worried about. Leaping across the slow-flowing peaty burn that ran behind their farm had long been a favourite game of hers, ever since her Granda had shown her how (much to her Ma's disapproval) and she had long wanted to share it with Becky. After persistent pestering her Granda had finally relented and promised his adventurous granddaughter on the next calm day, he would take them both to the burn.

Elsie had stood steady on her rock and watched her sisters face. Becky really didn't seem keen but Elsie knew if she just jumped she would get the hang of it. So, grinning with her hands on her hips, she had called out to her,  
_  
"Mon, Becky! If ah can dae it, nae reason ye cannae!"_

Elsie remembered how she watched a determination spread over wee Becky's face that day, before the lass leaped, and shrieked in delight as she landed on the stone nearest the bank. For Becky, her making the leap was the reason it was her favourite story. For Elsie, it was because in that moment, the moment that she saw the pride and glee that spread across Becky's face as her feet hit her stone, was the day that she promised she would always be as supportive and a protective of her wee sister as God would allow. Back then, Elsie hadn't realised that the promise she was making to no one other than herself and God would become the promise that would direct the course of her entire life.

A sharp knock from the door went unheard in Elsie's sitting room, as did they opening of the door and the presence of a certain butler in the frame, "Mrs Hughes?" the deep baritone shook her from her thoughts, and she turned round from her desk.

"Tha, Mr Carson?" she said, not realising her Gaelic slip.

"Is… anything the matter?" he begun, warily, having noticed her odd reply, but not wanting to seem improper by prying at such a late hour. He had hoped to return in time for their evening sherry to be continued but as it was so late his visit was merely just to see she wasn't staying up to finish ledgers as she had threated to do earlier.

Elsie sighed. "No, nothings the matter. I was just thinking, that's all." she turned back to her desk to turn off her lamp,

"Oh? Nothing bad I hope?" Mr Carson looked towards the housekeeper, his eyebrows raised in questions that went unasked. He noted how her brogue seemed thicker, and how perfectly distracting it was.

Elsie turned to face him, biting her lip a little, as she often did when she was pensive, "No, I suppose not. I was just thinking about our conversation earlier. Wondering whether a certain farm girl had changed." She said, looking past him to the corridor wall behind.

Mr Carson smiled a little, "And, has she?" he had been enjoying their conversation before Mr Bates had interrupted. But once again the needs of the house had taken their place at the forefront of his attentions and he mentally chided himself for it.

"Och, I don't know. In some ways, not at all. In others, entirely." She lifted her eyes to the Butler's, smiled as if to reassure him, "Its funny, isn't it? How life rolls along, taking us along with it as we try to keep up as best we can."

The Butler considered the thought for a moment, "Life's altered you as it's altered me. What would be the point of living if we didn't let life change us?"

The Housekeeper simply nodded, still worrying her lip, and for a moment Mr Carson was worried he had said something out of turn. "Well, I had better say goodnight, Mr Carson. There will be plenty of work awaiting us tomorrow." She smiled, to which Mr Carson nodded as they both made to leave her sitting room, Mr Carson motioning for her to leave first before turning out the light and pulling the door behind him. He stood by as she locked her door and proceeded towards the stairway,

"Ahem, Mrs Hughes," Mr Carson began, calling after her as she begun to climb the steps.

"Yes?"

"Perhaps, if you wouldn't mind I mean," He paused, why he was so terrible with words around this woman he would never know, "Perhaps you could tell me of that farm girl some day?"

Elsie smiled warmly, "Perhaps one day." She couldn't help but wonder what the butler would make of knowing the headstrong, stubborn, wild haired lass that Elsie once was. Perhaps she hadn't changed, but rather altered as Mr Carson had said. Sure enough he had see her headstrong and more than once had he decribed her as stubborn, that only left wild haired, she supposed, grinning to herself. "Goodnight, Mr Carson."

"Goodnight, Mrs Hughes."

* * *

_*For the purpose of this story I've come up with my own background, and timeline for Mrs Hughes which is entirely speculative of course! I will flesh this out as the story goes, don't want to give everything away just yet but this is roughly how my ideas go, apologies if there are any glaring mistakes, again her ages etc all fit this story and perhaps nothing else. I'll explain my thinking as best I can!_  
_1862 – Born, near Crinan, Argyll._  
_1876 - Father dies, EH aged 14._  
_1879 – Left Home, aged 17._  
_1879 – Begins work in Dundee as Scullery Maid._  
_1885 – Becomes housemaid, still in Dundee. Aged 23._  
_1890 – Comes to Sewerby Hall. This is at the change over from father Yarburgh Gamaliel Lloyd-Greame to his son Yarburgh George Lloyd-Greame who inherited the Hall in 1890. He has grand plans for the Hall and therefore required more staff. Elsie starts, ages 28, as a housemaid but soon doubles as a ladies maid because she's pretty awesome! I chose Sewerby Hall as it is relatively near Ripon, York etc so the idea of Elsie hearing of a job at Downton wouldn't seem too farfetched. For more info check out here: view/attractions/bridlington/sewerby-hall-and-gardens-126034_  
_1906 – This is the year I have roughly guessed Elsie started at the Abbey, when she was 44 years old. My reasons for this is the Downton Abbey wiki states that Elsie came to the Abbey as Head Housemaid when the young girls were in their teens so: Mary born 1891, Edith 1892, Sybil 1895. Sybil would have been 11 in 1906, the Mary and Edith would have been in the midst of their teenage years. I just quite liked the year and Elsie's age! Again, I'm really sorry if I've missed an episode where this was spelled out but I'm pretty sure I haven't? Please let me you're your thoughts!_

_*Nieghan donn' (nee-an down) meaning "brown-haired lass". I quite liked the idea of Elsie being close to her Grandfather, and that he would go between Gaelic and Scots._

_*Okay so here's where my full artistic licence really kicks in! We have Argyll, which is fair enough, but has Julian Fellowes seen the size of Argyll!? There are a million nooks and crannies Elsie could have grown up in! So, aye. I have decided for this story, this is where Elsie Hughes and her family hail. Precise co-ordinates: 56.083832, -5.503873. That wee croft right there._  
_Chose this because it's near to the village Crinan, which would be about an hour walk away, perfect for dances etc. There's also Kilmartin Glen which is beautiful and full of faerie stories and historical artefacts. It is also well situated for travel to Glasgow, Dundee etc as the Crinan canal is nearby. Dunadd is very interesting also, check it out here: wiki/Dunadd Most of all it is gorgeous area. Again, just guess work!_

_* "Oh, she'll grow in her own time, lass. Just as you did." (Just incase, you never know)_

_* 'Nighean ruadh' (nee-an roo-ah) meaning "redhaired lass" (my gaelic is rusty, I think thats the right pronounciation)_

_* Again, see point 3. Google map the coordinates and explore!_

_* "So what if you fall? What if a crow swoops down and takes you away? What if a kelpie leaps out the water and bites your toes? There's not a thing you should ever be frightened of when I'm around, child, do you hear me? Grab my hand." (again just incase)_  
_I had linked the wiki page of kelpies but the link keeps disappearing as I post. A kelpie is a Scottish water spirit that hangs about it burns, pools, Lochs, any body of water. Often said to be horse like. Mostly a story used to keep wee children away from dangerous water!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks to all the kind reviewers, your comments are gratefully received! This is just a short, inbetweeny transition chapter that consists mostly of dialogue, so bear with me. I also know it would be highly unlikely for the family to take as many downstairs staff as I'm getting them to take but #creativelicence._  
_In terms of where it takes place in the series, Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson have had the Becky chat, but there was no proposal on Christmas Eve which is explained below. Hopefully it's not too OCC for you all but again, please let me know what you think xx_

* * *

Usually, the middle of the morning was a busy time for the downstairs staff, however as it was boxing day and the family were taking things easy after the celebrations of Christmas Day before, and some of the staff had found themselves with a little spare time to themselves. This was time they usually spent catching up on odd jobs in each other's company in the servants hall and today was no different. Daisy was clearing teacups, Thomas was enjoying a cigarette as he leant back in his chair and Alfred was in the middle of polishing some brass buttons as they all chatted about the up-coming family trip to Scotland. It seemed as though most of the downstairs staff were to go with the family, and some weren't best pleased about the fact.

"I wouldn't let Mrs Hughes hear you saying that, Thomas." Spoke Daisy, as she stacked the dishes on the table.

"Wouldn't let me hear what?" came a familiar brogue from the doorway, as Mrs Hughes stood, one arm clutching a stack of fresh linen, the other hand firmly on her hip. Daisy looked horrified as she stood, mouth open, unable to form a reply.

"Oh, Mrs Hughes." Alfred stepped in, "Thomas here was just saying that he didn't much fancy going to Scotland with the family. Too much bad weather, odd people, and poor food. Doesn't think it's for him, you see." He smirked, enjoying his chance to get one up on Thomas as the Under-Butler shot him a glare. Daisy was grateful for Alfred's interjection.

"Mrs Hughes, I didn't mean, well…" Thomas started, having being completely put on the spot.

"Is that so?" The housekeeper interrupted, ignoring the Under-Butler's excuses, instead raising one eyebrow in his direction with a glare, "Well. I'm sure Scotland has enough good grace to overcome not meeting your approval Mr Barrow, though I'm not sure who gave you the impression that your approval mattered in the first place. I'll see to it that Mr Carson arranges some extra duties for you for the duration of our stay, so you don't have to experience any of the country." And with that she turned on her heel and left the doorway, leaving a rather glum faced Thomas in her wake. As she stomped her way to the linen closet she rolled her eyes at the grumbling and hushed arguing now coming from the servant's hall.

"What was all that about?" Mr Carson called to Mrs Hughes as she passed his pantry, he had heard the commotion and noted her heavier than usual footfall.

The housekeeper paused in his doorframe, "Can we discuss it later? I have so much still left to do before tomorrow that I'll be up until the wee hours if I stop now." She smiled wearily. The surprise trip to Scotland had indeed caused extra work for all downstairs, not least of all for Mrs Patmore and herself.

"Of course." He waved his hand as if to let her go, watching her figure disappear before turning back to the silverware spread over his desk.

* * *

"And I am to find Mr Barrow extra duties?" Mr Carson asked as he settled into his chair in her sitting room, flicking off the ceiling light, leaving just the table lamp on between them.

Mrs Hughes paused for a moment, considering her answer as she sipped her sherry. "No I suppose not… I'm sure the threat alone has been enough to cause him enough grief for the time being." Mrs Hughes smiled a little, "In all honesty I'm not sure where my outburst came from. I couldn't care less of his opinion normally, but there was just…. something." She muttered, biting her lip a little.

"Perhaps it was him insulting your homeland?" he proceeded cautiously, raising his eyebrows.

"Och," she scoffed. "I'm not as patriotic as all that, Mr Carson." she protested, shaking her head, "It's been a long time since I was last in Scotland, I'm not even sure if I can still call it my homeland."

"Nonsense." he spoke, watching her as she focussed on swirling the dark liquid in the glass clasped in her hand. Even though they had a big day tomorrow neither had wished to forgo their usual nightly sherry. He sat back, enjoying the opportunity to look upon her without her noticing. He could see she was contemplating something, he just wasn't sure what. Her lip was drawn back between her teeth as it often was, her eyebrows lowered almost in a frown. Even by the soft lamplight, her eyes looked tired from the day's many hours but she was still beautiful, he thought. In the weeks that had passed since their first cottage viewing, he had found himself unable to keep his thoughts away from the woman before him. She was so, so beautiful…

"Anyway. Are we all prepared for the journey tomorrow?" she spoke as she looked up, breaking the quiet in the room, a small smile on her lips as if to reassure the man sat opposite her.

Caught a little of guard and flustered by the fear she'd caught him gazing at her, Mr Carson mentally scrambled to look elsewhere before nodding, "As ready as we can consider ourselves at this late hour." He brought a small piece of paper from his pocket, "Our train leaves at seven; Mrs Patmore, Daisy, Anna, Mr Bates, Miss Baxter and Thomas will follow with the family at eleven am." He knew the times already but was thankful for the distraction the paper gave him.

"At least that gives us a little time to ensure Inveraray* is up to scratch before the family's arrival."

"Indeed. Though I still don't understand why they require almost all of the downstairs staff to travel."

"No, nor do I." Mrs Hughes shrugged a little. "By the sounds of it not all of them are happy about it. Perhaps the winter season sees a reduced staff up there?"

"Perhaps." Mr Carson nodded. He was more than a little irritated that this trip had interrupted his plans. He had decided to go ahead and buy the cottage he and Mrs Hughes had been interested in, even without her contribution, and wished to view the place one more time before signing the paperwork. With the family gone on their trip, he thought he would have plenty of time before their return to allow Mrs Hughes to accompany him and let her in on his plan for their future. But by having to travel to Scotland he was forced to forgo the last visit and sign the paperwork anyway. It was highly improper, he admitted, but the thought of losing the cottage to someone else made the decision for him - he didn't want to picture anyone but the two of them residing there. On top of that, both he and Mrs Hughes had been so busy since Christmas that he had yet to find the perfect time to ask her a certain question that had been burning on his tongue for several weeks now…

"Are you alright, Mr Carson? You look rather flushed?"

Her delightful brogue broke across his thoughts, and he realised he had no idea what she'd been saying, nor how long he hadn't spoken for. "No, perfectly aright. Just a little warm is all." It was his turn to reassure but he only succeeded in making his cheeks deepen in colour. He coughed awkwardly. "You were saying?"

He smiled as she continued where she had left off, but once again was lost in his thoughts as he watched her features as she spoke. This would never do, he scolded himself. How he was going to make it to the end of the next three weeks he could only guess.

* * *

*Inveraray Castle is the castle used as Duneagle Castle, way back in 2012 for Series 3's Christmas Special. I figured that if it could be Duneagle, there was no reason it couldn't be visited as Inveraray in this fic. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you so much for your kind reviews and for sticking with this! This chapter is a little bleh as it is mostly travelling - I should have realised by making them travel 300-odd miles that there would be some travelling chat involved but anyway, my bad._

_I'm struggling a little keeping the balance from Mr Carson to Charles and Mrs Hughes to Elsie etc right. I've tried to keep it to thoughts but I apologise for any disjointedness. :( Also let me know if any of Mr Cameron's speech is hard to read._

_The journey they've taken is about as close to the journey would have been at the time, obviously Downton is fictional but Thirsk, Newcastle, Edinburgh, Inveraray was the only way of linking lines that I could find. I've tried to keep the timing relative but I claim creative license for it not taking them until midnight! xx_

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything, just borrowing for fun._

* * *

It was just after ten past seven when the train pulled out of Downton's station, much to Mr Carson's chagrin. At the last minute, Mrs Patmore had decided to get the earlier train, having argued that Daisy could well look after breakfast and that she was going to need extra time to come to grips with the kitchens and larder at Inveraray. So the delay had come from getting the cook's luggage from the Abbey to the train on time.

"Heaven knows what sort of thing they have up there Mr Carson!" the small cook protested, as she blustered down into her seat beside an amused Mrs Hughes.

"And what exactly do you think they will have different _up there,_ Mrs Patmore? I'll have you know stoves and kettles have been just as popular in Scotland as they have been here." The housekeeper interjected, as she scooted further towards the window to allow the cook more room.

"That may be, but what if their larder is just full of odd things, like haggis! It wouldn't do to only serve the family that god-knows-what for three weeks, now would it? And what if I can't get hold of fresh ingredients, I doubt there's a shop next door I can just pop over to whenever the fancy takes me!"

"Heavens! Anyone would think we were heading for The Mysterious Island!" the housekeeper exclaimed, feigning horror as she looked to the butler sat opposite her, who as always remained un-phased by Mrs Patmore's rambling.

"I'm sure you will find the kitchens as adequately stocked as any to be found, Mrs Patmore." Mr Carson stated proudly as he settled into his seat. "I am told the family there keep abreast of all modern innovations as and when they occur south of the border."

"Don't you start!" Mrs Hughes shot an accusing look towards the butler, she was sure she could see the hint of a grin teasing at the corner of his lip.

"We best be careful, Mr Carson," the cook pretended to whisper as she leant forward in the carriage towards the butler, "or Mary Queen of Scots here will have our heads!" and with that the ruddy-cheeked cook burst into peals of giggles, forcing Mr Carson to burst into a wide grin, which earned them both an exaggerated eye roll from the housekeeper. 

* * *

The journey had taken them the best part of the day. They had chatted for most of the morning, had tea when they changed train at Thirsk, but as the train reached a steady speed, Mrs Patmore had fallen into a sound sleep and had remained slouched in her seat. Mr Carson had brought with him his copy of the 1847 Burkes Peerage and Landed Gentry, and was content to thumb through its pages, occasionally dosing off himself. Elsie had also brought a book, Robert Louis Stevenson's The Merry Men and Other Tales and Fables. It was one of her oldest possessions, given to her by the elderly butler of her first house when she was only twenty-five, and it had since travelled her road with her. She supposed the Calvinist rhetoric reminded her of church sermons when she was a lass, and she admitted she was quite partial to anything gothic.

Today however, its heavily thumbed pages sat unturned as she was content with looking out of the train window. She had watched as the Yorkshire moors dissolved into the industrial landscape of Newcastle, with its sky heavy with chimneys and the dockyards heaving with sails and steam. This in turn soon transformed into the rolling borderlands and as if by the flick of a switch, the close knit hills disappeared as the line begun to hug the South-East Scottish coastline. From her window Elsie could see nothing but clear skies and sea for miles, the towering, jagged cliffs giving way to the odd boat beneath. She admitted she missed the sea. She smiled as her memory immediately dived back to the servant's day off in Brighton last year, where it was only her propriety and the company of a certain butler that had stopped her from flinging herself headfirst into the clear, cool water.

She smiled to herself. Goodness knows what Mr Carson would have thought of her then. Their relationship, if she could call it that because she didn't really know what to call it, seemed to be on the mends. She still felt awful about letting him down with regards to their joint property venture and had fully expected the butler to retreat back into his shell a little. But she had been pleasantly surprised when he maintained their newfound closeness, and allowed her to share in little details of the cottages he was still looking into for himself. Elsie had told him she had enjoyed their little dream, but in truth she still woke for dreams where they had settled into a life together. Where they had become more than just joint owners, more than just colleagues, maybe even more than just friends. But for now, she would settle for and be content in the closeness they shared.

Mr Carson had startled awake as the train jolted on the tracks. "Oh, I must have dozed off, I must apologise Mrs Hughes." He noticed the housekeeper jump a little. He felt more than embarrassed about falling asleep, in front of two ladies no less. He cleared his throat, "Where are we now?"

"We shouldn't be far from Edinburgh now." She motioned to the window, "We've just come alongside the coast."

He looked rather tousled in his half asleep state as he tumbled for his pocket watch. "Ah, we have made good time then. Very good time indeed."

"Yes." She smiled to herself at his flustering, daft man. "Shall we wake Mrs Patmore?"

"Eh… I'd rather we didn't for the moment." The butler glanced over at the cook, who was slumped against the side of the carriage wall snoring slightly. "I'd rather enjoy some quiet before we arrive in the city."

Mrs Hughes grinned, "I won't tell if you won't."

The rest of the journey to Edinburgh had been spent in companionable silence, Mr Carson had gone back to his book, and Mrs Hughes her window. The cliffs had soon faded into small towns and villages on the outskirts of Edinburgh and before long the city itself loomed into view. Mrs Patmore had been woken and they'd prepared for alighting. As she stepped off the train Elsie noted that Waverley Station was much as she remembered it, a sprawling maze of tracks and platforms.

They repeated the process at Glasgow Central Station, and once settled on their train to Inveraray were glad to tuck into some lunch as the clock passed 1pm. As the train thundered across Renfrewshire and into Argyll, Elsie lost herself in the scenery once again. This time though, as she picked out munros and lochs that she'd known in her youth, the scenery felt like it was hers. 

* * *

Around 3pm they arrived at Inveraray, a typical rural station in the heart of the small town around it. A car had arrived from Inveraray Castle which they were soon bundled into alongside their luggage by their silent, no-nonsense driver.

"So, go on then, what does it feel like to be home?" Mrs Patmore said, gleefully nudging the housekeeper beside her. Her friend had been quiet all day (well for the parts she had been awake), and Beryl was determined to work out why.

"If you're expecting me to start spouting Robert Burns from the nearest mountaintop, you're quite mistaken Mrs Patmore." Mrs Hughes replied wearily, "But I'll admit, it is rather nice to see Argyll again." She turned to look out the car's window. They were hurtling along a single track road that was banked by a large pine forest on one side, and a dramatic glen on the other. The land appeared to fall away from the road itself and sprawl across acers of bracken and heather, the odd rocky outcrop breaking the surface with its lichen-covered boulders standing grey in contrast.

"I always thought the Scots pine a fine tree." Mr Carson joined in. As usual he had managed to make his words sound like an agricultural comment rather than something nice for the Scotswoman he sat opposite. He watched as both the cook and the housekeeper raised their eyebrows in unison. Mrs Hughes in surprise at his genuine sentimentality, and Mrs Patmore at the absurd attempt at what she supposed was meant to be a compliment.

Mrs Patmore rolled her eyes, sighing, "All this glorious scenery, the likes I've never seen, and all you can come up with is 'a fine tree' and 'it's nice'?! Heavens, you two… I'll never know!" the small cook threw up her hands to emphasise her despair.

It wasn't half an hour before Inveraray Castle came into view. The more Elsie had seen of the acres around the castle, the more her heart leapt. Even the air blowing in through the window smelt clear and crisp. She felt more than a little foolish. As they unloaded the car with the help of the estate's gillie and a kitchen maid who had greeted them, she reminded herself she was a grown woman after all, not some silly lass who's heart only sung for the highlands. Keeping step with Mr Carson, they followed the gillie whilst Mrs Patmore had disappeared with the maid, who had promised to take the cook to the larder straight away as her insistence. Though Elsie was intently listening to the gillie exchange small talk with Mr Carson, she made a mental note to complete the work necessary for the family's arrival as fast as her standards would allow, on the chance that she could take a walk before it got dark.

"Hoo' aboot it?" the gillie asked as the three stopped at the entrance to the servants yard, "The loch is somethin' tae see this time o' day, whit wi the birds an a that, an wi a braw lass lik you aside it, well…" the gillie winked at Mr Carson.

It was clear to the butler that he wasn't part of the gillie's invitation, so he stood one eyebrow raised in distaste, his ears turning a delicate shade of crimson. He watched as Mrs Hughes flustered for a reply.

"Yes, well," Mrs Hughes begun, feeling a blush creep up her neck, only managing a side glance to Mr Carson. "We have quite a lot to do before the family arrive, so perhaps another day, Mr… em?"

"Cameron. Jock Cameron. At yer service." He flashed a toothy grin, "And ye are?"

"Elsie Hughes." she smiled, the blush still evident on her cheeks. She had been caught quite off guard by the handsome gillie.

"Alricht Elsie. Mibbie anither day." He grinned, turning to face Mr Carson, "I'll say guid day ta ye baith then." And with that he turned on his heel and made his leave down the drive.

If Mr Carson's ears were red before, his face now bloomed an infuriated red as he bristled. "Well I never. What an uncouth… improper-"

"He was just being kind, Mr Carson." The housekeeper interrupted, shrugging off her own flustering by smoothing down her dress.

"Kind my eye!" Mr Carson huffed. How dare that man! He would have to keep an eye on this Mr Cameron. A close eye at that. 


	4. Chapter 4

_Hi guys! Thank you soo soo much for the lovely reviews you've left me, they are very much appreciated, you've been so kind. Sorry this has taken forever, a couple of spoilers that were revealed for series 6 were similar to a few things I had written which meant I had to do some serious re-writing which sucked big time and I got a bit disillusioned but hopefully things won't turn out too bad. Hopefully. Anyway, thanks again for sticking with this. :) xx_

_Disclaimer: Unfortunately I own nothing except Mr Cameron. I'm just borrowing and having fun._

* * *

The few hours before the family arrived had passed at breakneck speed for both Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes as they met and worked alongside Inveraray's staff in bringing the castle to what Mr Carson deemed "a Downton standard". As they had suspected, the castle was running on a reduced staff for the winter season but fortunately the remaining housemaids and footmen were extremely efficient and the work was well on its way to completion.

After settling the last of the tasks with the housemaids, Elsie made her way downstairs, hoping for a quiet cup of tea before she begun sorting through her own luggage - after the hard work of the morning on top of their long journey, she didn't feel as though she was taking too much of a liberty. As she rounded the final twist in the stairs leading to the kitchens, she slowed her pace as a rather irate voice boomed along the stone walls, out of her sight.

"How am _I_ supposed to know what to do with any of _this_, exactly?"

"Tha's everythin oan the list thit wis given tae me, Miss Patmore. The-"

"I mean, whatever on God's green earth is _this_?!" the stout cook's voice interjected, bewildered, as packaging rustled. Goodness knows what Beryl would be brandishing in the poor delivery boys face by now, Elsie thought. As much as she wished a cup of tea, avoiding the drama that was clearly unfolding in the kitchen seemed more appealing, so as quietly as she could Elsie turned on her heel and set off in the direction of the butler and housekeeper's sitting room. A few steps later however, she was dismayed to find a figure leant against the frame of the open sitting room door. Even though his back was to her, Elsie knew immediately who it was.

"Mr Cameron, good afternoon." She gave a tired smile. All she just wanted was a little peace, and something told her this man was most likely the opposite.

"Ah, Elsie," the gillie turned to face her, straightening his stance, "ah had hoped tae catch ye here." He took of his cap with a wide smile.

The housekeeper raised an eyebrow at the use of her name, "Is there something I can help you with, Mr Cameron?" unconsciously over emphasising his name in return.

"No exactly, as ah said, ah had hoped tae catch ye here." He motioned to the room. Elsie wondered what he thought she did all day, but politeness made her smile as he continued. "Ah was wondering if ye had time for that walk we discussed earlier?"

"As nice as that offer still is Mr Cameron, I had hoped to begin my unpacking." She waved her hand towards the various items of luggage that were stacked neatly in the middle of the room.

"Acht, yer packing can wait. The licht'll be gone from the day by the time you're done all that." He peered into the room, it was quite a large pile. "Was there anything ye didnae bring wie yeh though lass?" the gillie laughed a little.

Elsie found the gillie's laugh to be a little infectious and couldn't help but give a small grin. "Those aren't all my own, Mr Carson's luggage is there as well." In truth, the butler's luggage took up more room on the floor than her own, as she had always travelled light.

"Well let him sort it oot. Mon, just a wee walk. Doon tae the loch and back?" he gazed at her expectantly.

Elsie looked to the gillie, then back to the luggage, weighing up her options. She had promised herself a walk after all, and perhaps the fresh air would blow away the cobwebs from travelling.

"Ah promise I'll have ye back afore the family arrive?" Mr Cameron pushed further, leaning closer to Elsie that she might have liked.

Deciding that refusing the gillie would only make him pester her again at a later time, Elsie gave in, "Oh all right, Mr Cameron, just let me get my coat."

"Braw!" Mr Cameron clapped his hands together excitedly, as they headed to the back door together.

* * *

"Mrs Patmore, have you seen Mrs Hughes?" Charles had finally completed his rounds, (after a slight mix up that ended with him taking a tour of the ramparts by mistake, but he supposed he could now say the house was fit top to bottom with no inch of doubt) and was hoping to spend a little time with Elsie before the family arrived.

"No, I have not. I was hoping she would help me decipher a few things in the larder but the kitchen maid said that the gillie stopped by earlier to take her for a walk." The cook acknowledged the butler before continuing going back to reading the lists sprawled over her desk.

"Gillie? How much earlier?" Charles pulled out his pocket watch, attempting not to appear too incredulous.

"About an hour or so I suppose." She shrugged as she ticked off items on the parchment.

"An hour ago?!", Charles's face reddened slightly but he caught his composure, "And where exactly was this… gillie… taking Mrs Hughes?"

"Oh, I don't know," she waved her hand nonchalantly. Where the housekeeper was wasn't exactly top of her priorities at that moment. "the grounds I should think. Are you alright Mr Carson?" Mrs Patmore had looked up from her table to find the butler apparently uncomfortable where he stood.

Her question went un-noted, "That seems highly improper!" he exclaimed.

"Mr Carson," she replied, a little exasperatedly, "all women need a man to show them a little attention now and then, preferably a little improper." the cook grinned as she stood up from her desk and began to bustle off to the larder, "Besides," she called back, "they're walking in the gardens, not smooching in the bushes!" And with that she disappeared from sight, leaving a fairly horrified Charles in her wake.

A little improper? Smooching in the- it didn't bear thinking about. Charles pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath in an effort to calm his thoughts. Mrs Hughes was a grown woman, she could go a walk with whomever she pleased he reminded himself. Though she had never gone a walk with him. Then again how could he compete with a man who clearly shared so much in common with his housekeeper - the housekeeper, he corrected himself. He rolled his eyes. But his thoughts were interrupted by a horrifying sound, somewhere between a wail and a drone that appeared to be coming from upstairs.

"What on Earth..." he began, aloud.

"That, Mr Carson, would be the skirl of the bagpipes," a familiar voice spoke up from behind him as Mrs Hughes popped her head in the kitchen door, "which if I am not mistaken means the family must be on the drive. Perhaps we should head upstairs?" she was fixing her hair as she spoke, a few strands had escaped their clasps and now loosely framed her face. Clearly she had not been back long.

Charles turned to face her but only nodded. He had been struck by the way her tongue rolled over 'skirl', elongating the 'rl' into a soft burr, a sound that was so uniquely her that it made his heart leap. He noticed her cheeks were considerably more rosy that usual, her eyes shining as she smiled almost shyly at him. She looked happy. Was she a little flustered? Perhaps this Mr Cameron did have more to offer than he did. His heart sunk a little.

"After you, Mrs Hughes."


End file.
